


Bring The Beat Back

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_genficathon, Gen, Team, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla is not sure if she is more tired of the drums or the endless bickering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring The Beat Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 Genficathon.

Teyla is not sure if she is more tired of the endless drums or the endless bickering.

“Don’t they ever stop?” Dr. McKay hisses at her.

She is beginning to wonder that herself.

On her other side, Lieutenant Ford snorts. “You don’t want the drumming to stop, McKay. When it stops, Major Sheppard dies.”

Teyla’s gaze skims the bushes and trees leading back towards the village and the crowds of, perhaps, eighty to a hundred people. Too many for them to fight through to reach Major Sheppard, even if Teyla had it in mind to fight.

There’s a rustle of leaves, hidden beneath the thunderous drumming, and as Teyla turns her head, the Lieutenant brings up his weapon, levelling it at the distant gathering space, just outside the housing and gardens.

Dr. McKay speaks first in a hoarse whisper, although the vantage point they have chosen is far enough from the village to allow them to talk at normal volumes, particularly with the constant budda-budda-budda of the drum patterns. “What are you _doing_?”

“Initiating a rescue,” says Lieutenant Ford, as though it’s obvious. “We’re not waiting for Atlantis to come looking for us.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we wait. I thought--”

It takes the dark-skinned young man a moment to realise what Dr. McKay’s pasty expression is implying. “You think I’d kill him?”

“I never said that!”

“I do not think an attack would be successful,” she intervenes before it can become a game of ‘he said, but he said.’ “There are too many of them. And we do not want them dead.”

“Why not? They want Sheppard dead!”

Teyla could explain that life is precious in Pegasus - even superstitious life that believes Major Sheppard has displeased the Ancestors and must be sacrificed in appeasement. She does not.

Explanation seems to mostly give rise to confusion and protest. It seems better to simply point them in the right direction and let them go, as Halling commented when they first arrived in the city of the Ancestors, and as Teyla has since discovered in her interactions with her new team-mates.

“There are too many of them,” she repeats, fishing in her pocket. “And I have another idea.” It will make life a little more difficult for the villagers in the coming seasons, perhaps, but she would rather their lives were harder than know them all killed outright.

They look at her as though she has just turned into a Wraith and would drain them both dry.

“A better idea?” Dr. McKay sneers. “Like, what? Trade them to death?”

She holds up the firelighter. “We set fire to one of their fields.”

It is not an idea she would usually countenance - burning the fields is a serious thing. Were the villagers less prosperous, she would not have made the suggestion; but their supplies will take them through to the next growing season - unless they are profligate.

Lieutenant Ford looks from her to the light and back to her. “That might work.”

“It _might_ work?”

“McKay!”

“If the fire gets out of control, we could be at risk!”

“And if the fire _doesn't_ get out of control, Major Sheppard will be dead!”

“There is the river nearby,” Teyla says, keeping her voice calm and reasonable. She has noticed that the Lanteans like the idea of being reasonable, although they tend to act very emotionally. “And there are plenty of able bodies to help. They have a lot of spare supplies, so they will not starve.”

Even in the near-dark, his expression of distaste is clear enough, but Teyla gets the sense that he is considering her words. Then, he makes a noise like a sniff. “Go ahead then. I can’t stop you.”

She does not sigh in exasperation, but reflects that he will not like the next part of her plan. “I was thinking that you would set fire to the fields, Dr. McKay.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Are you _trying_ to get us caught, McKay?” Hisses the Lieutenant, as though lowering his voice will alleviate any damage done by McKay’s shriek.

"I'm _trying_ to protest my involvement in this! Hello, civilian!"

"No one's asking you to fight a war!"

"You're just asking me to play pyromaniac!"

"Would you rather walk into the middle of the fighting?" Lieutenant Ford asks with stark bluntness. "Shoot a gun and possibly have to kill people? You want to be part of this team - of any team coming out of Atlantis, really - you'd better be ready to defend yourself. Especially if Sheppard dies because you wouldn't help with a diversion. There won't be a military person in Atlantis who'll want you around."

It is a bleak future that Lieutenant Ford paints for Dr. McKay, and perhaps not the wisest way to induce compliance. The doctor is sensitive to anything that he thinks might be bullying - a result, so Major Sheppard has said, of childhood trauma.

To Teyla's eyes, Dr. McKay does not display the signs of distress common among those who have suffered greatly in Pegasus; but the Lanteans are a different people.

"It will keep you out of the fighting," Teyla says, appealing to his instincts of self-preservation. "Light the fires at the far corner of the nearest field - the point furthest away from the village. Then follow the river back to the puddlejumper. We will free Major Sheppard during the confusion, and meet you at the puddlejumper. And if things do not go as planned, then you must return to Atlantis and let them know."

He huffs, but one hand reaches out to take the firelighter from her hand, then waves it in the air. "This isn't what I signed up on the expedition for!"

"Yeah, and Sheppard didn't sign up to be the sacrificial lamb, Teyla didn't sign up to get hunted by the Wraith, and nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Get over it, McKay, and go make a diversion!"

Not the words Teyla would have chosen, but they get Dr. McKay moving. He stalks off into the night and his passing is covered by the steady din of drumming.

She chooses not to say anything of Lieutenant Ford's method of motivating Dr. McKay; he is younger, perhaps, but far from a child to be chided.

"So, what's this plan of yours?"

His deference surprises her. "Aim for the torches in their holders," she says. "Or the weapons in their hands."

"You really don't want them dead, do you?"

"Do you?"

"Can't say I wouldn't mind winging them, at least," Lieutenant Ford admits. "But no, I don't really want to kill them. Although, I'm wondering what kind of people do human sacrifice for a minor infringement."

The answer to that - in Teyla's mind at least - is 'those who do not see this as a minor infringement'. And the matter of Major Sheppard's trespass was only exacerbated by her new allies' presumption that people should see things the way they do. What Teyla and her people are willing to allow as 'cultural ignorance' from experience with travel and trade, these people - who have had very few visitors since the Ancestors left them - are not.

And the few times they have had visitors travel through the Ring and make the trek to their village, the Wraith have come shortly after.

Teyla understands their fear; she simply does not share it. And neither she nor her people would ever have considered sacrificing Major Sheppard or his people – even if they did awaken the Wraith.

“What’s taking McKay so long?”

That she does not know, cannot answer, and so does not answer, instead planning out the rescue. “Most of the villagers will run to the fields,” she says. “We will have to deal with those that remain behind.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“They will be the most suspicious,” she warns. “And likely armed.”

“I can deal with them.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” she says dryly, and hears him laugh. She trusts the Lieutenant to be careful – he is neither as cynical nor as suspicious as Sergeant Bates, and more open and friendly than many in the city. He holds himself very seriously, yet a streak of mischief runs deeply within him, and Teyla thinks she may count him a friend.

Glancing behind, Teyla sees the first spark of fire.

Then the great, resounding _boom_ of something exploding, a vivid display of light and colour.

“What the hell?” Lieutenant Ford reaches for his radio. “McKay?”

There is nothing but static on the line, and Teyla stares at the fiery circle in the corner of the far fields, barely hearing the uproar from the town. The thunder of drums in the air has stopped; now all she has is the thunder of her heart in her ears. “My firelighter is not capable of that,” she says, wondering what Dr. McKay did.

“I shouldn’t think it is,” comes Dr. McKay’s voice over their radio. “Look, I had some C4 in my jacket and I figured that if a small fire would get their attention, a big fire would get more attention.”

“Yeah, well, it’s got their attention all right,” said Lieutenant Ford. “You've got incoming from the village - get the hell out of there, McKay!”

“You could at least say ‘thank you!’”

“Thank you. Get back to the ‘jumper!”

Teyla grips her weapon in her arms and slips down their vantage point, moving almost silently through the underbrush, relying on the knowledge that the attention of the villagers is elsewhere.

A last glance at the fire shows it burning merrily through the ripe crops. Already, a rush of people move towards the river, buckets and skins held in their hands, ready to haul water and extinguish it. Not all the village, but most. Enough to give them a fighting chance to reach Major Sheppard.

It takes more than a fighting chance to reach the square.

By agreement, Lieutenant Ford takes up what he calls a ‘sniper position’, planning to provide a distraction from another direction, while Teyla moves in to deal with the scant handful who have been left behind to watch the Major.

It begins with the _bang_ of a single gunshot and the _pop_ of a torch close by the head of one of the guards. He flinches as embers and sparks explode out as the torch-head shatters and spits its pieces through the shallow grass. Several men run to put out the smaller fires, then stop as the other torch-heads pop in tiny explosions that mirror the bigger explosion Dr. McKay planted out in the fields.

With their heads turned elsewhere, it is only a moment for Teyla to take out the nearest man, covering his mouth before knocking him out.

She is not entirely gentle.

This close, she can clearly see what has been done to the Major – shallow slices down his back and sides, the dark runnels of blood dripping down from the curved underside of his buttocks and thighs. The afternoon’s drumming – so loud and resonant in the air – drowned out any noise that escaped the gag in his mouth. His shoulders still heave from the pain, but his head is lifted to observe the chaos.

All but one of the torches has shattered, leaving the square in darkness – that torch is off to the side, far from the mud-encrusted stone in the centre of the square and the man who kneels, pale and naked, in the middle of it, his arms spread wide to opposing poles, his ankles bound to iron rings inset in the stone.

A gasp behind her takes Teyla by surprise, and she turns, the unaccustomed weapon in her hand.

The round, startled eyes of a child peep out from behind his mother’s hips, and the woman catches her breath. Even in the last light of day and the blazing torches in the night, Teyla can see the pale eyes are drawn to the weapon in her hand.

“I do not want to kill you,” she says, truthfully. “We are only here to take our friend back.”

“He defied the Ancestors,” says the woman, her voice low.

“Not knowingly. He is of Ancestral blood – one of their lineages. Do you understand this?”

“He is of--? But how--?”

Teyla makes a judgement and lowers the weapon, although her reason chides her in the aggravating voice of Dr. McKay. “I do not wish your people to die unnecessarily, but we will take him back. If he has trespassed it has been unknowingly. And he has paid for it in his blood.”

Behind her, the shatter and tinkle of glass and metal and the alarmed shouts of men tell her that Lieutenant Ford is continuing his fire.

“Is he your lover?”

Her mouth curves. It is a question Teyla is rapidly becoming familiar with – whether from the Lanteans, her own people, or the allies they meet in their explorations. “No. He is…more than that.”

She can find a lover to her taste on any planet she visits. But a friend in peace and an ally in fighting is something rarer - something to be treasured. Teyla does not have so many friends among the Atlantis expedition that she is willing to lose one for a misstep.

“ _Teyla, where are you? I’m running out of things to shoot!_ ”

Teyla doesn’t answer, but looks at the woman. “Will you help us? Can you draw them away from the stone? All I wish is to take him away without loss of life – his or any of yours.”

A hesitation that draws out like a moment of shattering pain. Then, “Yes.”

And the woman takes her son’s hand, moves past Teyla, out into the square and the open.

“Lieutenant?”

“ _Where are you? What were you doing_?”

“Enlisting help.”

“ _Help? What kind of--_?”

He breaks off as the stranger woman and her son draw his attention. In much the same way, her imperious tones and beckoning hands draw the men close around her. Teyla can hear something about ‘this is no accident’ and ‘searching the village’. Whoever she is, her words hold weight, and most of the men head back towards the nearby houses with her, leaving behind only two guards to watch Major Sheppard.

“The last torch by the altar, please, Lieutenant.”

And in a burst of sparks and ashes, the lone torch spits into darkness, leaving only shadows.

One of the two guards takes a step toward the altar, then pauses and turns back towards the village. His companion looks after him, calling something to which Teyla is not listening.

In a moment, Teyla is out and over at the rock on which the major kneels, using his body as a visual shield against being sighted. The conversation taking place between the guards is beyond her hearing - her attention is all on Major Sheppard.

He starts at her touch - his skin is cold as the river in winter - but relaxes after a moment. Her knife slices neatly through the thongs that bind his feet, and she slices through one of the thongs holding his arms out, then ducks under the other arm before cutting the final tie.

He sags against her, exhausted and stiff from the cold. His fingers close around the knife, and she feels the groan in his chest as his arms and legs protest from the blood running through them. His arm tightens around her neck for a moment as he lays the blade against his cheek and jerks.

The ball-shaped gag in his mouth bounces away, rattling a little, and there is a shout from the guard which is cut off by the chatter of Lieutenant Ford's weapon. “Thanks for the rescue.”

They have no time. Even now, she can see the glow of more torches being brought at a run, and his skin is too pale and obvious in the shadows. It would have been easier to rescue Lieutenant Ford, assuming that the villagers had stopped to ask which team-mate would be easier to rescue.

“Dr. McKay should be bringing the ‘jumper now.”

“Your weapon.” His free arm gropes at her thigh for the handgun. “Sorry.”

Teyla opens her mouth to protest his planned action, then closes it and lets him take the weapon from her thigh holster, allows him to turn and face their pursuers. For what he has suffered, he feels the need to retaliate.

It takes effort. His hand is shaking slightly; she can feel the tremors in his muscle as he lifts his arm and fires twice at the incoming villagers, then twice again. Teyla sees the lead torches fall as his breath hisses through gritted teeth - sees the other torches stumble and pause, suddenly aware of the danger that awaits them in their headlong rush.

She takes the weapon gently from his hand. The larger gun hangs weighty between her breasts, but she cannot wield it and carry the Major and he has not the strength to use it.

Also, she has no desire to kill anyone - although if she had the village leader at her mercy, she would not be averse to causing a little pain - or a lot.

But revenge is a bitter dish at best, and they must get out of here before the villagers regather and capture them all.

“ _Teyla, I’ve got you - I'm  laying down cover fire now..._ ”

“Is Dr. McKay on his way?”

“ _He says he's incoming into the altar clearing..._ "

"I do not believe that is the best--"

“We'll be there,” Major Sheppard says, although she can hear the breathlessness in his voice. Cold, pain, and exhaustion are taking their toll on him, and he is not entirely steady on his feet.

There is shouting on the other side of the altar clearing, and more torches arriving, along with the sudden, strident tones of a woman's grief. What goodwill Teyla gained in her brief encounter with the first villager is gone; this time, there will be no reprieve.

“That's not good.”

“Very bad,” she agrees. “Dr. McKay?”

“ _If I crash the ‘jumper, then we won’t be going anywhere!_ ”

The snapped pronouncement does not make anyone feel better.

“ _McKay, you’re still cloaked -             we can’t see you_!”

“ _I have to land this thing before I can uncloak it! Don’t distract me!_ ”

There is a mutter about ‘backseat drivers’, and Teyla half-turns to face the direction from which she expects the people will be coming. “Lieutenant?”

“ _I’m on the ground across the square, waiting. How’s the major?_ ”

“He is upright.”

The curve of his forehead presses against her temple, as though he can draw strength from her through mere force of contact. “I’m fine.”

Teyla makes no comment on the propensity of the military Lanteans to overstate their health. She concentrates on distracting the oncoming villagers by shooting at anything ceramic, glass, or stone - any substance that will chip or spatter. Over on the others side of the square, Lieutenant Ford’s weapon chatters. There are screams and cries as someone stumbles. A woman’s voice rises in protest, a child’s scream rings thin through the air, then an approaching man cries out and is flung back onto his back, and with a multicoloured shimmer, the puddlejumper appears, settled ungracefully on the ground before it disappears again.

Teyla and Major Sheppard limp around to the back where the back door is already lowering to show Dr. McKay coming towards them.

The Major lifts his head, frowning. “What are you doing, McKay?”

“Uhh...coming to help?”

“Help by flying us the hell out!”

Lieutenant Ford runs in the back, slams his hand down on the door panel, and fires a few warning shots out the back of the puddlejumper. “What’s the wait, McKay? Let’s go!”

Teyla already has the Major sat down in the cargo bay, and is pulling out a blanket to throw over him. His skin is still like ice, and he is shivering convulsively, his hands trembling with cold and reaction. Without a word, she thrusts a ‘heat sheet’ into his arms, and his fingers clutch the thin, crackly units to start the heating process.

“Th...Thanks.” He sets his jaw as his fingers clench in the heat sheet he’s holding against his chest, and his words are formed with all the care of Iargan making his ceramics for firing.

“How is your back?” Teyla drapes a blanket around the front of his shoulders - and, not incidentally, over his lap. She does not imagine that a man like Major Sheppard cares to feel exposed. And the soft blanket will keep in some of the warmth being generated from the heat sheet.

“Sore.”

“How is he?” Dr. McKay calls from the front.

Lieutenant Ford rolls his eyes before calling, “How do you think, McKay? He’s been tortured!”

Major Sheppard meets her gaze with a smile as she sits down beside him and brings the medicine box up on her lap. His wounds will need to be cleaned; she can do that here. “Glad you came for me.”

“Oh, as though we had a choice!”

“He is right, Major. It was never an option to leave you behind.”

He shrugs, and his gaze skims down and away, as though shy of what she might see in his eyes. Teyla busies herself with the medicine box to give him the privacy he desires, even as she wonders at what has created the belief that he lacks value. When she looks up again, the awkward moment has passed, and he is once again the friend who has no reservations about including her among the people he counts as his own. “I’m still glad.”

"As you should be. Sir."

Teyla pulls out a cleaning ointment and a cloth and holds it up for him to see. He hesitates and jerks his head at Lieutenant Ford so his hair bounces towards the front of the craft, unrestrained in spite of his travails. A moment later, the Lieutenant moves past them to seat himself next to Dr. McKay.

Major Sheppard eases his back around for Teyla's medical attention.

He flinches at the first touch of ointment on his skin, but his shoulders stiffen almost immediately. “I think we'll be tagging that one an unfriendly,” he says as she begins smearing the cool, stringent cream with a soft cloth, clearing the livid cuts with gentle swipes.

“You do not think they will be amenable to an alliance, then?"

It has been many generations since anyone but the Wraith visited that planet; it is likely to be many generations before anyone contacts them again.

“Yeah, because nothing says ‘friendly’ like human sacrifice!” Dr. McKay calls from up the front.

Lieutenant Ford makes a noise like a splutter of disbelief. “Will you shut up and drive?”

Beneath her hands, Major Sheppard's shoulders heave with a sigh as he mutters, “You know, I think I preferred the drums,” as Dr. McKay retorts, “Will you shut up and _let_ me drive?”

This time, however, the bickering does not bother Teyla at all.


End file.
